The Traitor
by Lilya
Summary: Bloodtraitor is not a light word that can be flung around carelessly. But wizards have a long memory… Let us step back to the Year of Our Lord 1656. Whatever happened to the Hanleys and the Clarks?
1. Chapter 1

Title: The traitor

Author: Lilya

Genre: Angst/Drama

Summary: Bloodtraitor is not a light word that can be flung around carelessly. But wizards have a long memory… Let us step back to the Year of Our Lord 1656. Whatever happened to the Hanleys and the Clarks?

Main characters: OMCs, OFCs.

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: The world belongs to J. K. Rowling. The idea was born from an essay I read at Red Hen Publications: I fully credit the author as my muse.

Characters and realization are mine. This is a work of fiction outside canon.

**Warning**: not for Weasley fans.

**Historical Notes**:

1) The Wizarding World's society here described is based on patron-client relationships, pretty much like Roman society, from top to bottom. The idea is not mine, but the Red Hen's.

2) Even in the real world, the 16th and 17th centuries marked a drop in tolerance with the supernatural. In the HP world, the isolationist movement had already been present for some time, but here it began as a widespread necessity: wizarding families began to withdraw from mundane society, until it came to the Treaty of Seclusion of 1692, which was to the whole process what a lock is to a door. This idea was also borrowed from the Red Hen.

3) Goodman and Goodwife were the equivalent of today's Mister and Mrs. for the lower class. Middle-class people would be referred to as Master and Mistress, with the latter being used equally for married and unmarried women

4) Witch Finders: followers of Matthew Hopkins (unknown-1647), who styled himself Witch-finder General and was responsible of about 300 executions for witchcraft between 1644 and 1646. He and his cronies would ride into town, conduct a search which invariably demonstrated the place was teeming with witches, torture them into confession and receive 20 pounds (more than a year's wage for most people) plus expenses and any gift the grateful population wished to give them. Known to employ most methods now stereotypically associated with witch hunting (i.e. dunking, prickling, finding invisible marks).

According to tradition, he was unmasked as a witch and executed, however historians agree he died of an illness, probably tuberculosis.

His organization will be mentioned in the story, but he will still be a Muggle – who, unbeknownst to him, did ride along some real "witches": these volunteers would bail out or warn real wizards and witches.

**Final note: **I am no Historian, I just did as much research as I could. All mistakes are mine and everyone who knows better is invited to correct me.

For a better comprehension, I added some grammatical notes at the end.

**The Hanleys & the Clarks**

John Hanley: a merchant, aged 33

Anne Clark: his wife, aged 32

Mary, David and Samuel Hanley: John and Anne's children, aged 11, 9 and 4.

James Hanley: John's brother, aged 29

Martha Corner: James' wife, aged 24

Martin: James and Martha's son, aged 2

Mary Wood: John and James Hanley's mother, aged 52

Peter Clark: Anne's father, aged 62

Margaret Higgs: Anne's mother, aged 55

Jane Clark: Anne's sister, aged 35

Matthew Clark: Anne's brother, aged 26

Elizabeth Nott: Matthew Clark's wife, aged 23

Margaret "Maggie" and Elizabeth Clark: Matthew and Elizabeth's children, aged 5 and 2

**The Weasleys **

Simon Weasley: one of the 9 Weasley brothers, farmer, aged 37

Amie (Amy) Gilbert: Simon's wife, aged 36

Henry and William Weasley: Simon and Amie's oldest children at Hogwarts, aged 16 and 14

Richard, Sarah, Joseph & George Weasley: Simon and Amie's children, aged 10, 7, 6 and 3.

**THE TRAITOR**

_Suffolk, England. __Anno Domini 1656_

The pale autumn sun was setting as John Hanley slowly dragged himself up the path that lead to the small house. He sank his head between his shoulders, to protect himself both from the chilly air and the chance of being recognized.

He feigned stumbling as he knocked with his rough walking stick on the door.

A thin woman with blondish hair and watery blue eyes peered out. "Who is it?"

John raised his head, looking straight into her eyes. She gasped and threw back the bolt, standing aside to let him in and sending her son to call her husband.

"Thank thee, Goodwife," he murmured as he crossed the threshold.

As soon as the door closed, John straightened his back. The walking stick shortened and thinned, his clothes went from tattered, formless rags to fine, resilient garments, though they appeared extremely wrinkled. Three other children – a seven year-old girl, a boy already breeched and another still in his toddler dress – peeked from the stairs, but Amie shooed them away.

"Sarah, bring them upstairs. Simon will be here in a moment." she said, leading the unexpected guest to the table. "Sit down, you must be tired. I shall fetch you some ale."

She moved to rummage in a chest as he sat near the fireplace. A few seconds later, the door opened again. The boy – Richard, if John remembered well – rushed through, joining his sibling upstairs, and a sturdy man with a shock of red hair stepped inside.

"Master Hanley! Nay, do not raise on me account, sir." He sat down at the table across from his guest. "I thought ye'd be in Hogwarts by now. They are looking for you and yours all over the place. Ye raised such a racket in all the parishes!"

"I know," John sighed. "Unfortunately, it couldn't be avoided."

Amie placed two tumblers and a bottle of ale on the table along with some bread and cheese.

"Was your discovery caused by your Ancient Magic?" Simon asked nervously.

"Nay, it was not so," he replied. "Merely an unfortunate circumstance – one of the children had a burst of magic in the marketplace."

"I understand. And I s'pose Thomas Clark's arrest last week did not help, either," Simon said, taking a sip from his tumbler. "I heard they almost caught you."

John took the tumbler with both hands. "Aye, 'tis a miracle we all escaped. My wife's family is with us – they arrived shortly after Tom's arrest…" He gulped some ale. "There was no time to use our chimney: before we told everyone, they were almost at our door…It is a miracle we escaped." He sighed, rubbing his forehead with a hand.

"How did you make it here?" His eyes nervously glanced at the door. "Did anyone see you?"

The other man shook his head. "No, no body. I disguised myself as a beggar and no one knows of our connection here."

"Right. No one," Simon murmured, drinking some more.

"We came by way of the woods. We had to leave immediately and brooms were not safe. Luckily, our hunters stopped to search the house first."

Amie covered her mouth with her hands. "By the woods! With your children…"

"It was not easy but with God's help, we made it," John took a sip of his ale, as if to rinse out the harsh taste of those two days spent on the run. "Martha had a hard time. She is in the family way. You know Martha, James' wife?"

"I think I saw her in town a time or two," Simon replied.

"I shall make a potion for her," Amie said, immediately setting to work. "Are they still in the woods? All of them? I'll send you something to eat, they'll need it."

"The Lord bless thee," John's voice was full of gratitude. "I apologize, our presence is dangerous for you…but ye must help us."

"Of course, Master Hanley. Ye made it this far already, ye will just need our chimney, right?" Simon asked.

John nodded and took a sip of ale. "There's also another thing I require of thee."

"We are at your service."

"Thy father, God rest his soul, was a Witch-Finder for a while. Thou served with him, didst thou not?"

"Exactly, Master." Simon answered, puzzled by the turn the conversation had taken.

John Hanley looked straight at him. In the smoky, flickering light, his face looked carved in stone and his blue eyes glimmered like pools of mercury. "I need thee to find me, Goodman Weasley."

For a moment, the only sounds in the room were the crackling fire and the children's footsteps and chatter coming from above.

"Master Hanley…" Simon began, but the other man motioned for him to be silent.

"Surely they have asked for thy assistance already."

"And I did give it – though my advice hath confused them rather than helped them, of course."

"I know, I know…yet the problem still stands." He paused for a moment, then explained, "Were we not what we are, we could never escape. Not with such commotion... We must protect our interests in the surrounding counties."

"The Wizengamot ordered this?" Amie asked, unconsciously clenching her hands on her apron.

"There is no order," John explained. "But I must keep my family safe. You understand this, naturally," he added, glancing at the stairs the Weasley children climbed a few minutes before.

"Of course…" Simon murmured, following his gaze. "But Master Hanley, what shall happen afterwards? My good name shall be ruined if…"

"Thou must not worry, Goodman Weasley," he said kindly. "My family knows of my intentions. No blame will be placed on thee and thy services will be rewarded."

"Oh. That's very kind of you, sir." He mumbled. "If I may be so bold, do you know what measures they will take afterwards? Shall we remain in their service?"

John knitted his eyebrows. "I am not sure, but I doubt they will be able to keep thee."

"But they could not take the farm for themselves – their faces are well-known around here." Simon argued, worriedly.

"Nay, but they might need to sell the land. They will certainly put a good word for thee with the other families."

He blushed deeply, lowering his head. "Ye understand, Master…I've children too…"

John smiled. "Have no fear. I have arranged everything at the best of my abilities – after that, God's will be done."

"Amen," Simon and Amie murmured together.

"If all is settled, I shall go and bring the others hither." He stood up.

Amie blinked. "You mean to leave now?"

"Aye, if we can."

The red-headed wizard furrowed his brow. "Beg your pardon, Master, but I do not think we can bring you all here tonight. There are men keeping watch on the road. One beggar is fine, but a whole troop would surely be questioned."

"And those poor children…they need a good night's sleep. They could share with ours," Amie added. "Though our house isn't as comfortable as yours…"

"Thank thee, Goody Weasley, but we'd rather not be separated."

Amie blushed. "I regret I cannot house all of you…"

"Well, maybe not here…" her husband said thoughtfully. "But I know a place were you and yours can stay safely. Thou knowest, the shepherds' hut?" He added, turning to his wife.

She thought it over for a minute. "Yes, it would suit us fine. A little small, maybe, but 'tis filled with hay."

"What do you think, Master Hanley?"

John considered his options carefully. Goody Weasley was right, the children were exhausted – so was everybody else, himself included. They had hardly slept the night before – if they had indeed organized patrols or something like that… They couldn't be captured now, practically one step away from Hogwarts. But now they were under Goodman Weasley's protection, so to speak.

"Is this place far from here?" John asked.

"No, not far if we cut through the fields – less than half a mile. 'Tis the best hiding place, you see: your family can get there through the wood, it's right at the edge."

John thought some more, then nodded. "Very well. Also, spread the word to thy neighbours a beggar thou questioned crossed the witches' path as they fled Southwards."

"I will, Master."

"Good." John took out a silk handkerchief from his sleeve, conjured an inkpot and a feather and asked for the exact position of the hut. As Simon explained, he sketched a map and wrote a few words of explanation. Then he took his wand and waved it over his message: the ink dried, the picture became much more definite, as if it had been painted by a consumed cartographer. One last tap of the wand and the cloth folded on itself, sprouting feathers and wings. A small sparrow flew away from the table and up through the chimney, undaunted by the smoke and flames.

"Now that my family hath been informed," he said "We shall plan our escape. Thou canst lead me thither afterwards."

Simon bowed his head. "Of course, Master."

* * *

A cold wind had begun to blow in the night.

Two figures wrapped in cloaks stood by the shepherds' hut, waiting, their gaze fixed on the dark forest. The pale light of the lantern one carried flickered and danced restlessly, while the bluish flame standing proudly at the end of the second man's wand hardly stirred.

Finally, other bluish lights glimmered in the distance, steadily moving closer.

A voice called among the trees, "John? Is that thee, brother?"

John Hanley stepped forward, his wand shining even brighter. "Yes, come. Goodman Weasely is with me."

Cautiously, like a cat venturing into unknown territory, a man stepped forth, his wand ready. He too had black hair, but his eyes were of a lighter blue. His tired, careworn countenance aged him, making him resemble his brother even more.

John reached out, laying a hand on his shoulder, and he turned back, nodding toward the wood. One by one, the rest of the Hanleys and the Clarks began to emerge.

After James came his wife Martha, tightly wrapped in her cloak but with her wand in hand.

Anne Clark-Hanley rushed forward, wordlessly hugging her husband – and eliciting a squeak of protest from Sam, her four-year-old, who found himself squished between them. John laughed and ruffled his hair, then kissed Anne's forehead and moved to take his son David off his sister-in-law's back.

"Thank thee for carrying him, Bess."

The woman gratefully passed the boy to him. "It was no trouble, he walked as much as he could, poor thing. Where's thy Mary? She was carrying my Maggie."

"Here, aunt Bess," a black-haired eleven-year-old girl wheezed, trying not to drop her squirming charge.

"Thou canst put her down, Mary, we are safe now."

Mary Hanley didn't need to hear it twice and gently set her cousin on the ground. As soon as she was free, young Maggie Clark sprinted to her mother.

John Hanley looked around. Matthew Clark had put his wand away and was helping his mother with Grace, his second born. Jane Clark, his sister-in-law, was thanking Goodman Waesley and inspecting the basket of food Goody Weasley had hurriedly prepared for them.

He couldn't see his mother and his nephew, then he spotted them behind Anne.

The only one unaccounted for was his father-in-law.

John approached Mother Clark and Matthew. "Where is Master Peter?"

Matthew frowned and glanced toward the wood. "He was supposed to close the group."

"He wanted to make sure nobody was following us," Mistress Margaret Clark added, already reaching for her wand.

"We should go b…"

"No need to fret!" A gruff voice interrupted them. "I'm here. I told you I wanted to be sure there were no Muggles."

"Oh, Peter!" Mistress Margaret rolled her eyes and took him by the arm. "Come, the Widow Hanley is already inside. She hath more common sense than thee."

"Bah, common sense. Oh, Goodman Weasely! God bless thee for thy kind assistance."

"Master Clark, Mistress Clark…" the red-head said, bowing his head in salute.

Almost everyone was into the hut by now, but Matthew Clark and James hung back with John.

"Fortunately for us, we met no trouble," James was telling his brother.

"Good. Are you sure you were not followed?"

"Aye, we took turns hiding our tracks," Matthew answered. "My father was particularly thorough."

"Beg your pardon, sirs," Simon Weasley said, approaching. "I shall take my leave now…you understand…"

"Of course." James nodded.

"We shall meet to-morrow morning, Goodman Weasley."

"Certainly. Master Hanley, Master Clark, God keep you and your families." He took his lantern and started walking homeward, while the three men joined the rest.

In the middle of the floor a fire was blazing merrily, its azure flames casting long shadows on the wooden walls without smoking or touching a single straw. Still, there were so many holes and cracks that it wouldn't have been enough without a couple of additional spells. Anne and Jane were finishing an enchantment that blocked all sound and light, making their refuge look cold and empty on the outside, while Mary Wood-Hanley charmed all insects out of the hay where they would sleep.

Elizabeth Nott-Clark, Martha Corner-Hanley and young Mary Hanley tended to the children and the oldest Clarks had already found another reason to bicker.

"I have every right to smoke in peace," Peter said, glaring at his wife as he packed his Meerschaum pipe. "I have waited all day!"

"Thou shalt not light that foul thing where we are going to sleep. Or art thou trying to set the place afire?" She sniffed and made a show of putting their food away from him. "That surely will not attract the Muggles' attention."

"Peace, mother," Matthew intervened. "We shall vanish the smoke."

All but mollified, she kept unpacking the basket, occasionally glaring at her husband and muttering vague threats.

Anne walked up to them, one hand on the leather pouch at her belt. "What shall we do with the caskets, now?"

"Take them out. Who carried the second?" John asked.

"My mother," she replied as she searched through her purse. Finally, a case even smaller than her fist gleamed in her palm. It looked like a toy, although a perfectly-made one, down to every tiny nail.

Anne placed it on the ground, and her mother placed another next to it, then, the two women raised their wands again: "_Finite Incantatem_."

The two boxes began to grow, until they regained their true size.

James cleared his throat. "I think we should hide them somewhere."

"Aye," Jane Clark agreed. " 'Tis better if no one sees them."

"Wouldn't it be safer if somebody kept them on?" Peter Clark said.

"Master Clark," Widow Hanley replied. "We all need our rest and I doubt it would be achieved by sleeping on our fortunes."

"Aye, 'tis true…" Peter acknowledged.

"We could bury them beneath the hay," Martha said. "And retrieve them in the morning, before Goodman Weasley sees them."

Everybody nodded and murmured in agreement. John and Matthew immediately set to task, then joined the others around the fire to eat their meagre supper.

As they ate, John explained the plan for the following morning.

"We shall move one hour before dawn," he said as he drew a map in the air with his wand. "And cross these fields to Goodman Weasley's house." He pointed to an area of green solid smoke.

" 'Tis open land…" Elizabeth observed nervously, unconsciously pulling her daughters closer. "Aye, so it is, but 'tis not used at this time of the year," John said, trying to comfort her.

"Moreover," Peter Clark said. "No body will be about at that hour."

"As ye can see, the house is not that far. Goodman and Goody Weasley will be waiting for us and before dawn ye shall be safe at Hogwarts."

At those words, Anne laid a hand upon his own. "John…" She started, but he hushed her with a glance, then looked around the circle. "Ye know I will not be persuaded, so please, let us not discuss it further."

The widow Hanley raised her head, looking straight at her son. "So….Weasley agreed with thee."

"Aye, mother, he did." John's voice held a pronounced note of finality.

An uneasy silence fell, engulfing the whole room like a wave. Louder and clearer than a battle call, it reminded them they were still in danger.

* * *

To Be Continued...

Grammatical NOTES:

- thou: II person singular informal. In formal speech the II person plural (ye, you) was used. thou you (subject)

thee you (object)

thy, thine your (genitive)

thine yours (possessive)

**Thou**is used in** informal speech **and when addressing one's subordinates. When a subordinate addressed its superior, he or she would use** ye.** If it helps, think of French and the difference between toi ( thou) and vous ( ye).

- The II person plural was still you, however they used **_ye_** for the subject of the sentence (ex: ye are late) and _you_ for the object (ex: I miss you).

- Verbs after thou generally end in –st or – est, but in this story I only used them for present indicative. The only verbs used in their past forms are to be (wast, wert), to do (didst) and to have (hadst).

- Verbs in third person singular ended in –th instead of –s as we are used to, so we have hath has and doth does

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	2. Chapter 2

PART II

The flames had been considerably lowered, but the fire still burned. Long shadows danced on John Hanley's face.

He did not flinch when somebody laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Come and rest," his wife said, sitting down by his side. "Thou didst hardly sleep in the last two days."

He turned to look at her. "So didst thee. Please, do not stay awake for me."

Anne took his hand. "If not for thee, then for whom?" A small, sorrowful smile curved her lips. "I will not have another occasion, if thou follow thy plan."

"Now, now, my wife, what hast thou to complain?" He said lightly, caressing her hand. "I leave thee with our dear relations and with enough funds to provide for thee and our children."

Anne opened her mouth, then closed it without a sound. "Art thou thinking of thy father, the Lord rest his poor soul?" she whispered after a pause. "Is it his memory that drives thee?"

"Perhaps. I cannot deny it…"

"I know those were hard times for you… Thou and James were so young and mother Hanley worked hard to raise you and keep your father's trade, but why hast thou…"

"Decided to leave thee and our children to the same fate? I only wish to protect you all." He turned toward the fire, his eyes lost in some place 24 years earlier. "At least, the children will not be here when they will arrest me." He forced a smile. "Do not be sad: remember our relations and your good funds."

"But thou leave me without thee…" she whispered.

"Oh, Anne…" John murmured, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. "My dearest Anne…"

She said nothing, but raised her hands to his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt in her fists. She would not beg him – not out of pride, but out of knowledge it would have broken his heart – and that gesture was all she could allow herself.

A few feet behind them, their daughter Mary closed her eyes and turned her back on them, trying not to listen. The slow murmur of their lowered voices soon lulled her back to sleep.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Mary Hanley sighed softly and tried to turn, but only managed to disturb David, huddled against her side. Stilling all movement, trapped between her brother's body and her mother's back, she listened carefully: the hut was filled with the others' even breathing – and granny Meg's light snore.

Young Mary frowned a little, trying to figure out how long she had slept. If even Granny Hanley was asleep, dawn had to be quite far away – and she needed to relieve herself badly.

Slowly, quietly, she disentangled herself from her mother and brother's side and stood up, closing her eyes to remember where everybody slept, then started navigating through the dark, stuffy shed.

Mary stopped halfway to the door, blindly patting the hay until her fingers found warm, heavy fabric and she pulled a cloak out of the pile: the night air certainly wouldn't be as hot as their refuge.

Now the last obstacle: grandpa Peter, who slept near the door with a loaded pistol at his side.

Mary stood still for a moment, throwing the large cloak over her shoulders, then opened the door a little and slipped out quickly.

No voice called her back or asked who was there and she slowly let out a deep breath, fishing her wand out from her pocket. The moon was at its last quarter, giving little light, and the stars were occasionally covered by large grey clouds pushed by the cold wind. Dawn was still two or three hours away.

"_Lumos_."

The small flame cast a small circle of light around her, clearing her path. She adjusted the cloak around her shoulders and hurried into the wood, as her father had instructed them.

They were not to leave a trace – and Mary was not afraid of the forest anymore. She had her wand, her mother's lessons in the past years and, above all, the bitter knowledge that the most frightening creatures were not those who lived among the trees.

She walked until the hut was out of sight.

Later, she would wonder how long it had actually taken her, how far she had gone. The way back felt longer, so much longer – but then, time itself had vanished, stretched almost to breaking point.

Later, she would remember her annoyance at the wind tangling her hair, tugging at her cloak and blowing her skirts against her legs.

Ironic, since it was the wind that saved her.

At first it was voices, fragments of sentences – but she thought it was just her imagination giving shape to the rustling of the leaves.

The sounds grew more definite – a soft whispering she couldn't decipher – and trembling lights shone among the branches.

Mary stopped dead in her tracks and whispered the counterspell, turning off her wand. One hand gripped the folds of her cloak and with the other she crossed herself – both hands were shaking, but the cold had nothing to do with it.

Thoughts raced through her mind – she tried to recall all the magic creatures she knew and which one of them could have done such a thing. Goblins? Hinkypunks? But they used only lights and this wasn't a bog…

Then, the voices rose and merged into a single, wordless scream and a shot rang out.

Mary gripped her skirt and ran forward, for she had realized that something worse than Goblins had arrived at the hut.

The lights grew brighter, shadows danced back and forth. More screams.

The hut was not far now. Mary hid behind a large tree and swallowed hard, gathering all her courage. Her instinct told her to turn around and flee back into the forest, away from those terrible sounds, but she tried to ignore it.

She had to see, she had to know – but she had to be careful, too.

She darted from tree to tree, moving closer, mindfully avoiding the dots of light.

She was so close she could recognize all the voices, now. Quietly, she sank to her knees and crawled into a cluster of bushes, peeking between their thin branches and yellowed leaves.

The hut was surrounded by men – Muggles of all ages, some not much older than her – from the village and the farms nearby, carrying torches and whichever weapons they could find.

The firelight gleamed on pitchforks, scythes and sickles. There were even a couple of muskets – keepsakes from the war now called back into service.

All eyes – as cold as snow, as hard as rocks – were on the prisoners who walked or were dragged out of the shack.

Mary couldn't see the door, but she could see them lining up on the grass.

Grandma Meg wept without a trace of her usual command, looking suddenly small and fragile. Grandma Mary was holding Martin close to her chest, trying to soothe him as he squirmed and cried, looking for his mother – but aunt Martha was nowhere to be seen.

Anne, her mother, stood tall and proud, one hand on David's shoulder and the other caressing little Sam's head. She looked like a lady sitting for a portrait, if not for her dishevelled air and her four-year-old hiding against her plain, crumpled skirt.

Next to her was – Mary almost gasped when she recognized aunt Bess. Her hands and clothes were covered with blood, it had even sprayed her face. Her gentle eyes were wild and devoid of anything save heart-wrenching horror. When Mary could not find her cousins anywhere – lively Grace, sweet Maggie whom she had carried on her back for hours just the previous day! – she understood.

A man pushed uncle Matthew into the group: he was holding his bleeding arm with the other, his head sunk between his shoulders. She could not see his face and she was grateful for that.

Next came uncle James: a Muggle walked behind him with a sickle half-raised, yet he limped on unhurriedly, as if he was strolling in a garden.

There a movement among the Muggles, a glimmer of light that caught her eye. A red-headed man approached one of the guardians, keeping away from the wretched group.

"What of the others?" he asked.

"Silas and Tim are bringing out the last one," the older peasant replied. "Abram shall come for the dead with his cart later."

The other man nodded. "At what o'clock?"

He did not get his answer, for two things happened in close sequence: first, John Hanley saw him as he stepped out of the door and lunged at him with a furious roar; second, his elder son took advantage of the ensuing confusion to slip away from his mother's side.

For a few moments, chaos reigned. Torches wavered, weapons fell, Muggles shouted and yelled, some moving out of the way, some running to restrain him and others gathering around his kin, trying to push them back and away from him – and behind them, David ran.

Mary could not tear her gaze away from him as his short legs devoured yard after yard. Her heart hammered in her chest as if she had been running with him. One hand clutched the silver cross around her neck, the other her wand as her lips moved without a sound – if in prayer or encouragement, she couldn't tell.

She dared not hope, but he was so close now, her soul was filled with it to the brim.

'I will call him as soon as he is safe, we shall flee into the wood together…' Her own muscles tensed in anticipation. 'Just a few yards…'

A shot thundered above all the noise.

The boy's breath caught in his throat – he let out a strangled gasp as his small body tensed from the sudden pain in his back. The momentum of the race fed one more step, then he staggered and tumbled on the dark grass.

Mary's hands flew to her mouth, pressing forcefully on her lips, choking back any sound.

She heard nothing, she saw no movement, as if every single person had been caught in a game of freeze tag.

Then, her father lunged at the red-headed man again, almost breaking free from the four Muggles holding him.

John Hanley's blood-smeared face contorted in anguish as he screamed, "WEASLEY!"

Mary shivered – she had never heard anybody scream like that, never known that a single word could hold so much hatred, rage and agony. It sounded like a horrible, unstoppable curse.

She would never forget that cry.

Voices rose and mingled again, but, to her, it was just a jumbled buzz.

She was hazily aware that the crowd began to move, carrying the prisoner back to the village, but she dared not look up.

The torchlight gradually moved away, shadows crept back on the turf. Footsteps and voices dimmed and faded in the distance.

The whistling of the wind was the only sound once again.

For a long time, there was nothing else.

Slowly, as if she had to concentrate all her thoughts on each movement, Mary pushed herself to her feet. Her legs trembled and she felt cold, cold to the core.

Supporting herself against the trees and shrubs, she stumbled out of the wood and crossed the lawn, like a sleepwalker trapped in a nightmare.

Her brother lay there, his hair lightly ruffled by the wind.

Mary dropped on her knees by his side, barely feeling the pain of the fall. A quivering hand reached out, hesitantly hovering above his head.

"David…" she whispered, not recognizing her own voice. "David…" His hair felt soft under her fingers.

Surely he would stop playing now. He did it all the time when they quarrelled, all the time: if she made to hit him, he threw himself on the ground and pretended to be hurt until he had scared the anger out of her. She always fell for it, always, but now it was no time for play…

Then she realized his eyes were open.

David always closed his eyes when he played dead. He was not moving.

Her hand shot back to her mouth, only half-muffling the wail streaming though her lips.

For long minutes, Mary just sat there, like a statue.

When she stood up again and turned her steps toward the hut, she moved like an old woman. The cloak hung askew on her shoulders, blowing and flapping in the breeze like a dark wing.

The door had been kicked down, its thin structure barely offering any resistance. Even from the threshold, the smell of blood and sweat was clear. Dark, uneven shapes lay among the scattered hay.

Mary shrank back quickly, slamming her back against the wooden wall.

"Oh Lord, help us!" she sobbed, struggling not to break down. "Help us…"

She pulled the cloak closer, as if to get some warmth back, and tried to steady her broken breathing, filling her lungs with air.

Eastward, the stars were already beginning to fade.

Mary looked at the clearing sky and swallowed hard. Her mother had often told her that she would be able to accomplish anything with magic – but her limited training could not help her or family.

Or maybe it could?

'Think, Mary! Think!'

She closed her eyes, picturing in her mind the map her father had drawn in the air a few hours earlier.

There was only one thing to do.

Mary pushed herself away from the wall and covered her head with the hood, then cut across the meadow and entered the wood on the other side, this time not bothering to cover her tracks.

About fifteen minutes later, she stood at the edge of the fields.

Dawn was steadily replacing twilight, lifting the shadows. Mary glanced nervously at the sky, then at the brown land laying in front of her.

If she met somebody else there, all would be lost – there was no place to hide, no chance of not being seen.

Among the branches, birds chirped their songs. Tugging the hood more firmly on her head, Mary gathered her skirts and ran out of the safety of the wood, across the fields, as fast as she could.

Within half an hour, she reached the Weasleys' cottage.

The barn was closer and she hid behind it, listening as she waited to get her breathing back under control. The only sound was the occasional lowing from the shed – no footsteps, no voices, nothing.

Carefully, Mary peered out from behind the corner: the yard looked empty and she couldn't see very well with her hood up, but she did not dare to push it down.

She mentally counted to ten, but nothing moved.

Wondering if it was a trap, she pulled the wand from her pocket before scuttling toward the farmhouse.

She flattened herself against the wall and listened at the window, but, again, no sound came. Doubling over, she passed under the windows and approached the door – her fingers clenched the wand even tighter when she noticed it was not locked.

Carefully, Mary pushed it open and slipped inside after counting to ten, closing it again behind her. The large kitchen was empty, but its inhabitants had left in a hurry, as witnessed by the half-eaten bread and dirty tumblers still on the table.

Without giving her surroundings a second glance, Mary came to the large fireplace, almost tripping over a kettle. The fire was dying out, so she hurriedly fed it a couple of sticks from a nearby pile and started inspecting all the jars and pots on the mantelpiece.

None of them held what she needed.

Mary frowned, inspecting every nook and cranny close by.

'No body would keep it far from the fire…Ah!' She pulled out a small box and opened it, revealing the fine glittering dust inside.

Her heart beat loudly with relief as she took a fistful and snapped the lid closed. Then, she made to place it on the mantel, but stopped herself halfway and put it back in its hiding place.

A second later, the powder was vigorously thrown into the fireplace and emerald-coloured flames rose to meet her, roaring.

Without hesitation, Mary stepped into the fire, shouting her destination: "Hogwarts!"

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

_Hogwarts__ Castle _

Janett Davies truly did not mind sitting up in the Lavender Room: at her age, she did not sleep much and the warmth from the fires burning day and night did her aching joints a lot of good.

Besides, it was a nice, spacious room – it was good they had redirected all arrivals there, now that they didn't get as many.

The unicorn carved on a mantelpiece turned his head and spoke in its low, artificial tone: "One cometh."

Janett blinked and pushed herself up, tapping the table on her left with her wand: several jugs of drinks and herbal teas appeared, along with dishes full of biscuits and pies.

Just in time: a dark-haired girl stepped out in a cloud of soot. Her clothes were wrinkled and stained, a cloak too big hang around her shoulders.

"Welcome, dear. Here, let me take thy cloak…" Janett said, shuffling toward her.

The girl straightened her back, her eyes darting from one corner to the other. "Is this Hogwarts?"

"Of course, dear. Make thyself at home, thou art safe now – what is thy name, dear? Dost thou care for a glass of butterbeer?"

"No. I am Mary Hanley and I must speak with Headmaster Macmillan immediately," the girl replied in a cold, controlled voice.

The old woman blinked, confused. "At this time? But…at least a cup of…"

"Immediately." Even under the dust, her face looked grave and authoritative beyond her age and her eyes burned fiercely.

Janett swallowed hard and decided against trying with a biscuit. "Right, well… I shall call him. If you would follow me…"

The young lady nodded gracefully. As she led her to the Headmaster's private sitting room, Goody Davies didn't even realize she had automatically switched to the respectful form.

* * *

TBC...

Author's note: at the beginning of the chapter, Anne mentions her father-in-law. David Hanley was arrested for witchcraft in 1632 and subsequently executed at the age of 29. At that time, his sons John and James were respectively 9 and 5 years old

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	3. Chapter 3

Part III

Headmaster Christopher Macmillan stood by the window in his office, his brown eyes staring on the cloud-topped mountains without actually seeing them. He was thinking about the school's latest guest, poor Mistress Mary Hanley.

According to the McGonagalls, the school healers, her ordeal had left her badly shaken, but she was recovering. She seemed to have adapted quickly to her new surroundings, certainly thanks to the Wood twins: being her closest relatives, both literally and metaphorically, and three years older, they had taken her under their wing.

He sighed – now they were with Professor Longbottom and Professor Lupin, their respective Heads of House. Aeneas and Bridget had thought it wiser to inform them in advance rather than wait for their cousin to tell them. She would need all the support they could give her.

It was going to be as unpleasant a task as few are in the life of a man.

Right on cue, somebody knocked.

Christopher turned around as he called, "Come in."

The door opened and Mary Hanley slipped inside. "You sent for me, Headmaster?" she asked with a small curtsey.

"Aye, I have. Please, take a seat, Mistress Hanley."

Mary moved near the desk and sat down on one of the chairs facing it. She was not wearing the school robes but a dress befitting her rank. She looked quite different from the dishevelled, dirty peasant from their first meeting: those clothes – probably on loan from Elinor Wood – somehow had restored her youth, her frailty.

Christopher cleared his throat. "Dost thou like it here? Hath thou been welcomed by the other students?"

"Aye, Professor. 'Tis a beautiful place and many have shown me their support, especially Edward and Elinor," she replied, nervously smoothing her skirt.

"Good." The Headmaster met her gaze. "I have received news from London, but I am afraid they are not good."

Mary stiffened and couldn't hold back a gasp. "Not… good?"

He nodded. "A Rescue Group was sent out immediately, but the Muggles…they did not wait for a trial."

"But…" she murmured, quivering. "Sam and Martin…they were but children…at least them…"

"I am sorry, child," he murmured sympathetically.

As Headmaster and wizard, Christopher Macmillan had seen a lot of things in his life, but he had to look away under the excuse of pouring her a glass of Butterbeer: few things are as heart-wrenching as witnessing the crumbling of hope, the death of youth.

They were flowing away from Mary like the ocean tide retreating from the shore – but, unlike the tide, nothing, not even magic, would ever bring them back.

He got up from his seat and brought her the glass personally – the girl closed her hand around it and sipped some warm brew but did not raise her head.

Christopher was no Legilimens, but he had a deep understanding of human nature. He laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Thou must not feel guilty, child. Thou didst everything in thy power and even more. Thou art not at fault."

He offered her a handkerchief, but she refused with a little shake of her head. There were tears trembling beneath her eyelids, but her face was dry. Christopher patted her shoulder once more and moved back to his chair, leaving her some more time to compose herself.

"What of Weasley?" Mary asked, leaning her forehead against her hand. "What of that _**traitor**_?"

Christopher glanced at the letter on his desk. "Well… He claimed he did not know about your presence until it was too late. However," He raised a hand to silence her anticipated outburst. "He could not say the same about the arrest. He should have notified us and he did not, which casts many doubts on his truthfulness. Additionally, the Group did some independent researches before talking to him: it took a while, but his neighbours confirmed he was the one who warned them. They also mentioned a scene between him and one of your relatives? Your uncle, I think it was?"

Mary shook her head. "Nay, it was my father – he was the last one to be dragged out of the hut. He saw Weasley and went for him, but the Muggles stopped him before he could reach him." She swallowed hard. "But he… my father, that is, screamed his name. It must have looked strange to them."

Christopher nodded and decided not to tell her that Simon Weasley had justified that scene by saying the wizards had threatened him and forced him to give them food and direct them to a refuge. The neighbours had been vastly impressed by his courage – Hereward Dumbledore had felt positively sickened as he listened to them singing Weasley's praises.

"But was he arrested or not?"

"Aye, he was. He is at our Ministry now, under questioning. There will be a trial, obviously – such a serious crime… I do not know if you have been told, but it is within your rights to press charges…"

"I have every intention to use that right," Mary replied solemnly. "Is there anything else?"

"Actually, there is," Christopher said. "One of the main reasons that led to his arrest were the caskets you mentioned."

"They have been recovered?" she asked, a little surprised.

"Aye, but not in the hut: they were found buried near Weasley's house. He probably thought it would dampen the Tracing Course."

Mary was not really listening: her mind had gone back in time to their last night all together, to the last exchange between her parents she had unintentionally witnessed.

"I leave thee with good funds…" she murmured, remembering her father's words. Unfortunately, he had meant to leave them all together and alive – and that would have been better than all the funds in the world.

"Pardon?"

She hurriedly shook her head. "Nothing."

Headmaster Macmillan began toying with a quill. "I realize this is not a good time for thee, but thou must think of thy future. If thou wish to consider it for a few days…"

Mary shrugged. "What is there to consider? I suppose I shall be sent with the Woods – my mother's family hath perished as well."

He shook his head. "Thou art eleven already: next year, thou would have started here. However, given thy unfortunate situation, thou canst remain and start thy magical training immediately, if thou so desirest." He did not miss her sharp intake of breath and smiled kindly, if a little sadly. "It would not be the first time such a thing happens – these are harsh times for our kind. If thou wishest to reflect for…"

She raised a hand gently. "I thank you for your kindness, Professor Macmillan, but it will not be necessary: I accept your proposal from the bottom of my heart."

That fast decision threw him off-balance for a minute. "Thou realizest, my dear, that thou would still be under the Woods' responsibility, at least for another four years…"

Mary nodded. "I do, but it doth not change my choice."

'I have no desire to wait another year in their house. I am sure they are lovely, well-meaning people, but I will not be anybody's charity case,' she added in the privacy of her own head. 'If my family's patrons will not help, then I will look for my own.'

"Very well. I trust thou knowest the basic facts about the school?"

She nodded again. "Elinor and Edward told me many things and I am sure they will help me."

"They will, but remember thy Head of House." He stood up. "I suppose thou wishest to be sorted as soon as possible?"

"Yes, please – as soon as it is comfortable for you," she said. "I realize I am increasing your workload."

Christopher waved her apology away as he took a battered hat down from a shelf. From the look of recognition on her face, he guessed her cousins had already filled her in about the sorting procedure and placed it directly on his desk.

Mary nodded her thanks and picked it up, putting it on her head. Before the large brim fell over her eyes obscuring her vision, she smiled a little when she noticed that, after all she had been through, facing that hat could still make her hands shake.

**************************

The dormitory was still empty, thankfully – coming in from Hogsmeade, she had seen a group of Seventh-Years down in the Common Room, but, since she was with their Head of House, they had not approached her.

Mary knew she couldn't avoid them forever, but she needed this few hours of peace and quiet. Many thoughts ran through her mind.

She was thinking of Arcadia Montague, her Head of House, a tall, graceful witch with an aura of natural authority about her who had taken her to the village for clothes and supplies and told her about the School, its rules – and how to break a few of them.

Mary liked Professor Montague – although she had the sneaky suspicion she would have liked her more if they had met under less stressful circumstances.

It was such a long day… And far from over.

Unpleasant pangs gripped her stomach. She had thought all would be over once she reached Hogwarts, yet it had barely started.

Laying on her back, Mary stared at the green canopy without seeing it.

She was thinking of the two Gryffindor boys whispering and staring at her in the corridor. They were Sixth-years, which meant they were Henry Weasley's yearmates.

Edward had pointed him and his brother out to her the previous evening while they dined with Elinor at the Ravenclaw table, before everything came out.

She was thinking of her own Housemates, who had changed the password to "weasel's kiss" even before she was Sorted into her family's House.

Mary wondered distantly what her parents would have said, if they would have been proud of her.

She knew Gryffindor and Slytherin had always been rivals, just like Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, but now there was a new tension between all Houses.

It was like a summer storm brewing.

The Weasleys would be right in the middle of it all – the Weasleys and herself.

Probably their Houses, too, as long as they were at Hogwarts.

But it would not remain in Hogwarts – her letter to the Wizengamot was already flying South, tied to the leg of an eagle.

She could not help but feeling that her whole world was on the brink of change.

Mary sighed – she could not dwell on those feelings any longer, her dorm-mates would come back soon and she had yet to unpack her supplies.

She sat up and started organizing her purchases, unwrapping them and laying them neatly on her bed.

Hogwarts students usually came with trunks that served both as suitcases and closets: it had been the first thing she had bought and, unlike the rest of the equipment and other necessities, it had been delivered directly from the shop.

Mary opened the lock and raised the lid, but it was not empty as she had expected: there was a bundle of cloth, conscientiously arranged, placed against a side.

Slowly, hesitantly, she reached inside and pulled it out, unfolding it carefully.

It was the cloak she had taken from the pile on the hut's floor, the cloak she had worn in her race for Hogwarts, only now it was clean and mended.

Except that, now that she held it in front of her, she could see what had been utterly obvious to anybody else: it was too big to be _**hers**_.

With the darkness first and the chaos later, she had not noticed it was aunt Jane's cloak.

All that remained of her family.

Everything came back to her at once: her parents hugging by the fire, David and little Sam and Aunt Jane and granny Mary, uncle James and Martin and Grace and Meg and…

A loud, endless wail rang in her ears – it took her a few seconds to notice it was coming from her own throat.

Mary fell to her knees, openly crying her grief, her whole body wrecked with sobs as she clutched her aunt's cloak to her chest.

**************************

Extract from the Simon Weasley Trial proceedings:

"_For such a heinous crime, there must be no justification, not even Fear for his position or, worse, Greed and Envy, as we believe though the said Simon Weasley hath proclaimed his innocence. _

_The slanders against Mistress Mary Hanley on her family's practice of the Ancient Arts shall not be considered as it is a long & valued study well-accepted & done in all levels of our society . _

_This Court therefore __sentenceth this examinate to lifetime imprisonment in Azkaban, as opposed to death by beheading, following Mistress Hanley's request. _

_This Court further recognizeth that, with his betrayal, the examinat hath cancelled any pre-existing contract standing between his family & Mistress Hanley's: the land & the farm where they worked return to her to be assigned to new retainers as she sees fit & she will be under no obligation to provide the Hogwarts fee for any of the remaining Weasley children, having already graciously allowed the eldest children to complete their education._

_All other material possessions belonging to the examinate & his family are confiscated & will be sold to pay for the procedures & refund Mistress Hanley. _

_This Court so hath ruled._

_Interrogators:_

_Bertram Philip Marchbanks, Minister of Magic. _

_**Bertram P****. Marchbanks**_

_Hester __Peony Smith, Chieftainess Warlock of the Wizengamot_

_**Hester Smith**_

_Ophiuchus Rigel Black__, High Master of Magical Law_

_**Ophiuchus Rigel**** Black**_

_Court Scribe_: _Faith Lovegood_

_**Faith Lovegood **_

_London, 16__th__ of March, Anno Domini 1659 _"

**************************

"It's no wonder that the Weasley Trial planted itself so firmly in our collective memory: if the loss of fifteen of our people is hardly desirable at any time, it was even less so back then, when the traumas from the previous century and the Civil War were still so fresh in everybody's mind. Moreover, both the Hanleys and the Clarks were old, respected families, connected to many others even outside their traditional House, and played a vital role in the Wizarding society's life: they were among the merchants who provided the raw materials, especially agricultural products, from the Muggle world. With more and more families retreating into safe communities or their own ancestral homes, their loss caused no small amount of discomfort as all their contacts and skills perished with them.

Another fact that made their case so painful was the direction from which betrayal had come: not from a rival of equal social standing, but from their own retainers, in a shocking break of the social contract as it had stood for centuries. Even more appallingly, Simon Weasley chose the Muggles over his own people – a choice many have not forgiven.

From a modern standpoint, the outcome of his trial seems decided even before it began, however, we must remember it lasted more than two years: in fact, back in those days many people came down in his defence, creating a strife in the Wizarding world in general and in particular exacerbating two pre-existing conflicts, the debate between supporters of Ministry-regulated Magic and practitioner of Ancient Magic and the gap between the Houses of Slytherin and Gryffindor, now inflated into the House of the victims and the House of the murderer – although Martha Corner had been a Ravenclaw and Mary Wood-Hanley a Gryffindor.

It would be unreasonable to say that it was the only cause, but so would be denying the many repercussions from that fateful day.

As regards the main actors of this tragedy, the Weasley family fell on hard times: after Simon's conviction, his wife and children had to move back to Devon with their relatives, three of his brothers were rejected by their patrons and their children had troubles marrying for few wanted to be associated with them. Even selling his goods did not provide the funds for the trial's expenses: his relatives had to step in and many of his descendants still blame him for the family's financial difficulties through the centuries.

For all the following century, all Weasleys were openly labelled as blood traitors and Muggle-lovers, whether they descended from Simon or not. The blemish on the family name was not easily removed: despite time, it is still fresh in the memory of most Slytherin families and, apparently, in the Weasley family's as well, since the name Simon continues to be verboten to this day.

Mary Hanley married Demetrius Baddock in 1663. She and her husband were among the most fervent proponents of the Wizarding Seclusion and she participated in the negotiation of the International Act in 1692.

Her figure and her story, along with her father and her enemy's, have been immortalized in numerous songs and ballads known throughout the Commonwealth."

Eurydice Pennyfeather, _Historical Trials of the Wizarding World_, chapter three, page 72.

Flourish & Botts, 1987

****************************

_Simon Weasel comes_

_A__nd all of you can see _

_He's wrapped in the cover _

_Of murder's red sheet_

Beginning of a late 17th century ballad

* * *

Unfortunately for me, the site does not support different fonts - so all the different ones I had used to mark the different signatures on the trial recordings were lost.

In case anybody is interested I used: Bertram Marchbanks = Vladimir Script ; Hester Smith = Palace Script MT ; Ophiuchus Black = Vivaldi; Faith Lovegood = Pristina. I was quite pleased with the result.

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	4. Chapter 4

Epilogue

_Land's End, July 1663_

Mary walked barefoot on the sand between the steep cliff and the ocean, watching the waves sparkle and crash. She wore no bonnet and the strong wind played freely with her curls, though she did not care: her face conveyed nothing but unfathomable peace and pure happiness.

It had been so long since she had last seen the sea – and back then, it was a different one, a different beach with gentle hills behind, not harsh rocks.

She breathed deeply, filling her lungs with the salty air. She liked these rough, weather-beaten cliffs stretching out into the Atlantic and though Demetrius had been more than willing to take her back to East Anglia, she had no desire to visit the places from her younger days.

No other place in the world could be as wonderful as this.

A few yards back, at the bottom of the cliff, sat her husband of ten days, watching her with his shoes and stockings still in hand.

At first he had been unsure about that trip, but now he was glad he had agreed: Mary looked radiant and happy, even if Cornwall was a little too close to the Weasley family for his comfort.

He heard her give a short yelp and immediately jumped to his feet, wand already half-drawn but relaxed when he realized she had just been sprayed by a wave. She laughed and threw him an apologetic glance. Demetrius returned her smile and put his discarded clothes behind a rock, next to his cloak, relieved the Charms barrier had not let any Muggle through – he knew Mary was still afraid of them.

As he moved to join her, he couldn't help but think about how lucky he was: with her pure blood and her past history, she could have easily married into one of the big families. Instead, she returned his love and had happily accepted his courtship and proposal.

Mary was still playing tag with the waves, advancing and retreating from the water edge like a child.

Demetrius came up behind her, a mischievous light in his eyes. "Shall we look closer?! he asked and, before she could answer, he picked her up and strode in the shallow water, pretending he meant to dunk her.

She held on tightly to his shoulders, half-shrieking and half-laughing, "Nononono!"

Demetrius started to laugh as well and a stronger wave made him lose his footing: both newlyweds ended up sprawling in the water, drenched from head to toe.

Mary, spluttering a bit, tried to get up but stepped on her skirt and fell back down, spraying more water around.

"Wait," her husband said, standing up and helping her to her feet. Laughing and leaning against each other, they climbed back onto dry land, clothes and hair in disarray. Mary squeezed sea-water out of her hair while Demetrius tried to smooth his shirt.

"Here, let me…" she said, finishing out her wand and muttering a few spells.

"Only if thou allowest me to help thee." He grinned sheepishly, taking out his wand as well.

Within seconds, their bodies and clothes were warm and dry again, as if they had never been touched by a single drop of water, though Mary's ruined hairstyle still spoke of their little misadventure.

She raised her wand to charm it back in place, but he gently placed a hand on her wrist, halting her movement.

"Please, leave it…Thou art so beautiful with thy hair down." He added, moving his hand to cup her cheek.

Her gaze met his hazel eyes and she stepped a little closer, standing up a little straighter. Demetrius could feel her soft skin and her vaguely damp hair against his fingers as he kissed her.

Breaking apart, he stepped to her right and slid an arm around her waist. "Shall we continue our walk?"

"With pleasure, Demi" Mary replied, leaning her head against his shoulder.

Side by side, they strolled up the beach as the wind mixed her black locks with his dark blond hair and stole all the words they exchanged.

Seagulls flew overhead, watching over those visitors of their realm, while at the sea fishing boats swayed in and out of sight.

The End

* * *

I must say I had a great time writing this story. It wasn't easy, but it was very fun.

I hope it was a good time for you too.

Whether you liked it or hated it, leave a review and let me know.


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